


We'll Start With the Armor

by FlightOfInsanity



Series: A Pair of Idiots [1]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Forerunners, M/M, this ended up shoutier than i intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightOfInsanity/pseuds/FlightOfInsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After firing the Array and retreating to Bastion, the Forerunners have to start rebuilding somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Start With the Armor

The Iso-DIdact was lost in his thoughts.

He’d come to the little outdoor sitting area in hopes of avoiding contact with anyone who might try to make small talk, using the excuse of eating as a convenient deflection. There was food in front of him, but he hadn’t touched it since piling the haphazard selection on the plate and plopping it down on the table. Now he stared through it, chin propped on one hand, while he ran questions through his head for what had to be the thousandth time that day.

 _Did we do the right thing? Did we prepare properly? Should we have done something differently?_ Could _we have done anything differently? Did we actually have a choice?_

It was a set of questions he’d been asking himself since he’d fired the Halo array. He knew there were no answers to be had, but he still felt the need to try to find them.

It only ever led to frustrating meditation and silence.

He continued to stare absently at the table, occasionally poking a finger at the plate and scooting it this way or that for something to do. The artificial sun was bright and pleasant overhead and a hard-light awning floated somewhere above, filtering the light into abstract swirls of blue and green on the tabletop. Lost in soft light and questions, he didn’t notice the other Forerunner making a beeline for the table, didn’t notice when the other took a seat directly across from him, and didn’t notice his name being called.

A hand waved a few inches from his face and he flinched backwards, reflexively trying to grab the appendage to disarm the potential threat. The hand whipped back out of reach, its owner anticipating the retaliation.

The Didact steadied himself and glanced from hand to owner, the other Forerunner leaning back to put himself a little farther out of the danger zone. It took a moment for the Didact to place the face – Splendid-Dust-of-Ancient-Suns – the young Builder Councilor. They’d run into one another several times since their unpleasant journey to the Ark after the destruction of the Capital, but never in so informal a situation.

Splendid Dust, seeing he was no longer in danger of being flipped over the table by the startled Warrior, sat back upright. He picked up one of the drinks he’d placed on the table and held it out in offering. The Didact took it, more out of reflex than anything else. Heat slowly transferred from the glass to his gloves and hands and a strong, but pleasant, floral scent wafted up in the steam. He peered across the table at the unexpected guest, not sure how he felt about his presence. On the one hand, the tea was nice and a surprisingly thoughtful gesture; on the other hand, Splendid Dust could be, well…

“Your armor is a mess.”

The statement was blunt and unexpected and caught the Didact off-guard. He looked down at his own chest, thinking his armor looked fine, thank you very much. It wasn’t as elaborately detailed as the Builder’s own armor, but it suited him well enough.

“What’s wrong with my armor?” he asked, surprised and slightly offended.

The Builder waved a hand, gesturing vaguely at everything. “It’s all scratched and dirty. Have you changed it at all since you’ve gotten here?”

“No.”

Dust hummed idly but said nothing, instead taking a slow sip tea and looking out at the slow roll of the landscape. The Didact took a hesitant drink of his own tea and found himself pleasantly surprised by the taste – not too strong, and faintly sweet. He took another sip and peered again at Splendid Dust, still unsure why the Builder was even here. Presumably he wanted something. Presumably he wanted _unpleasant_ , given the gift of tea.

He wanted to ask _Why are you here?_ _What do you want? Why do you care about my armor? Why haven’t you left yet?_

What he managed to say was, “Why?”

Dust looked back, face scrunched in confusion. “Why… what?”

“Why the armor? Why the tea?” the Didact clarified, unintentionally impatient.

Dust frowned at the tone. “The tea because you looked like you needed it. The armor because I think you–” he reconsidered his statement. “Because you hold a higher station than you like to admit and,” here he glanced away, mouth pulling into an brief grimace, before finishing in a rapid mumble, “because we’re holding a Council meeting.”

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice, _Promethean_.”

Using the rank as a diminutive was a reflex, it was something he’d used on lower ranking Warriors multiple times during harried Council meetings before. It was not something he’d wanted to use here, and as soon as the word left his mouth, Dust knew he’d made a mistake. Sure enough, the Warrior’s armor darkened and bristled.

“I didn’t ask for this,” the Didact snapped. He was frustrated and tired, caught somewhere between Bornstellar and the Ur-Didact and not entirely sure who he was supposed to be, and after the last decade he’d had just about enough of politics and being told what to do. “I didn’t _ask_ for _any_ of this!”

Dust bit back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue and settled for glowering across the table. The Didact glared back before abruptly looking away, forcing his battered armor to settle back down as he heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Did we do the right thing?” he asked, low and almost inaudible.

“It hardly matters now,” Dust snapped, much more sharply than intended. The Didact shot him an angry glare, and Dust swore under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” The Didact’s glare didn’t cease, and Dust ran a hand over his eyes, groaning to himself. Chant-to-Green had told him he was going to make this worse and he had argued, saying he was a Councilor and he knew how to win people over, and here he was – making this so much worse. He did _not_ want to hear the Lifeshaper’s “I told you so” speech.

“I just meant… what’s done is done, whether it was right or wrong, and there’s nothing we can do about it now but try to keep going.” Dust waved a hand, searching for the right words. “We didn’t ask for this – _none_ of us asked to be thrown into this – but we’re here now and, unfortunately, we’ve all brought positions of power with us. I’ve got the Council name behind me, Chant has the title of Lifeshaper, and you _are_ the Didact now.”

He paused, gauging the Didact’s reaction. It was not much better, so he tried again. “I mean, you _are_ the Didact, but you’re also not. You’re also still Bornstellar underneath all… that. Just like Chant is Lifeshaper, but she’s not the Librarian.”

The Didact stared at him, eyes narrowed. He had not expected something that introspective could have come from the Builder. “Did you think of that all on your own?”

“… no.”

“Chant?”

“Yes… But she’s got a point.”

The Didact nodded slowly, idly swirling his rapidly cooling tea in its glass. It was a good point, but it was going to be more difficult than acknowledging a single sentence to get out from under such a weighty title.

He sighed. “How are we supposed to rebuild our entire society?”

“I have no idea,” Dust shrugged. “Maybe we’re not. But everyone seems to be waiting for someone else to do something, so why not step up and try to make something good? I think we had the new Council heading in a decent direction, but it definitely had room for improvements.”

A massive understatement, but an honest truth.

“Improvements such as…?”

Dust shrugged again and grinned lightly, “Such as getting rid of the rate structure?”

 _That_ was a surprise. As flawed as the system seemed, it was so integral to the way the Ecumene functioned. Or… to the way the Ecumene used to function, at least. It would be a bold move to toss it out. The lower rates would probably be all for it, but the Builders most likely would not.

“You honestly think the Builders will agree to that?”

“Oh no,” Dust said. “They’re going to hate it. But we don’t have a lot to work with right now and I think, and Chant thinks, keeping the old rate divisions will make moving forward almost impossible. We’re hoping we can get our point across at the meeting, but it would undoubtedly help if we had a certain high-profile Promethean on our side.”

He used a version the rank this time inflected not as a way to put the Warrior beneath him, but to put him on equal standing. It was an odd use of the word and the Didact honestly hadn’t realized the Builders had that version. It wasn’t something he would have learned as a manipular and definitely wasn’t something he’d ever heard from Builders after his mutation. Of course, Dust could have been using it just to manipulate him, but there was something genuine and friendly in his tone.

He sighed, “Fine. When is this meeting?”

“Soon,” Dust answered, standing up and stepping away from the table. “But first, come on. We need to get you some new armor.”

The Didact stared at the Builder as he walked away before standing and shouting after him, “There is nothing wrong with my armor!”


End file.
